And In My Eyes
by smilebot
Summary: For an anon in the AC kink meme !o! CesarexOFC!Assassin recruit: An assassin recruit is sent dressed up as a courtesan to get to her target. Little does she know that a change meeting of the strangest sort will alter things things completely.
1. Chapter 1

Mondays.

I just _love_ Mondays.

"Out we go."

There is something so damned about Mondays; Mondays mean that I will most likely cut my foot on a round object; Mondays will predict me falling from another rooftop in the middle of a chase; Mondays are simply preposterous in the way it presents my throwing knives as Bartolommeo's shaving razors. Mondays: Why were they ever created?

"Straighten your backs; roll your hips. This kill will be ours, ladies."

In fact, I do not even recall ever registering Monday as an official day. The only days of the week should be Friday and Saturday; good God, if it was so, I would not be lamenting every marking on the calendar, nor would I be cursed in every little clumsy thing I do. I could just bury myself in a good book by the fire—

"We are here."

You know, maybe grab a cup of milk from the kitchenette and nab a tart from Maestro's desk, not that he ever really eats those sweets. All right, so I probably want my canine buddy Tortuga to join me, as well. I shall add that onto the list. Wait, did I even _make_ a list?

"May all be well."

And, hellfire, this outfit is very itchy and hot. What was it about silk being so … I do not know, "exquisite"? Ah, yes, because today is _Monday_, how could I forget? Today is Monday; great. So exciting. I am just bursting with—

Oh, my God, I am alone. Where did everyone go? Where's Aurelia? Signora Carlita? I am alone … well, not technically _alone_, but I am simply alone. Alone, as in, me awkwardly standing here without the entourage. Where the hell did they go? Oh, Jesus Christ, I do not feel so well. I think this skimpy thing that is deemed as an actual attire just gave me the chills. My tummy is dying from the cold, the courtesans started mingling, and I am at a meeting where fornication is like breathing.

"Ah, _scusi_."

Someone just bumped into me; someone just _talked _to me. Well, the man's gone now, disappeared into this throng of people who are not so discreet in … how should I say this without throwing my guts up? _Carnal pleasures_? Call me a prude, or whatever else one already names me, but I just want to get out of here; the air is thick with the smell of incense, smoke, and sex, and dirty deeds are shown right in front of everyone without the slightest inclination towards shame. If I hadn't bolted before, I would now.

But, I cannot; I _will_ not. This is my mission; my specific target is here, and Signora Carlita was kind enough to shield me amongst her girls to get my into this restricted area. I cannot let my discomfort and fear take over me.

Mondays.

_Damn you_.

"Aye, you are most kind, Sir."

That. That voice. Aurelia. I found her. There in the corner with—

"Bloody hell," I muttered, widening my eyes as I witnessed the man in front of my friend touching her chest. "Bloody damned _hell_."

And she was laughing and batting her eyelashes! For the love of my mother, the guy looked like a major serial killer on the loose! She was … doing the whole "oh, you flatter me" pattern!

_This. _I am scarred for life. Maybe tagging along with a friend was not such a good idea. I think I shall just go to the other side and find a chair, or something. Yes, a chair, preferably hidden in the shadows so that I will not have to jam my elbows into every passing male _and_ female—I cannot believe the latter—who try to grab any expanse of flesh I have. In the corner. Safe. Just use Eagle Vision. Nibble on a treat. Try to loosen this strange belly dancer's attire that I have on, with fifty jingly coins and ties.

Walking, keep walking; push, push, squeeze into that little gap … Damn it, why was this castle so _big_? Who even _owned_ this place? If I was not in this situation, I would daresay that it is one of the most charming places I have ever seen: with high ceilings, furnished walls with various tapestries, wide windows, the entire lot enhances by the large stones that formed the landmark; even the room this spectacle is in must go on forever. Perhaps, simply using Eagle Vision will not do.

Climb the rafters? But where? Aside from me being noticed, there really is not place to climb. Escaping may be difficult. I will have to think of something else.

"Oh, what little gem is this?"

Squeeze through the grate? Ha, like I will ever do that. I enjoy food too much; and this outfit is simply dragging down my self-esteem, if I did not know that from the beginning. Run amok? No, I am not too quick on my feet. And I cannot really even see much; the host of this party apparently loves dimmed lights tainted with crimson, because that is all I see, with black being the people. My eyes are burning—

"And what is your name?"

Ugh, another lascivious fellow grabbing my wrist? Not again. I shall just have to turn around; my elbows are too tired.

"She is all right; too plain for my tastes."

"You will not be saying that when she is under you."

Oh, wait, _what_?

"Different; I like different."

"In bed."

_Hell_ no.

Gritting my teeth, I whipped around and stared at the little group that gathered around the corpulent man who was holding onto my wrist. I let the plain and fat jokes roll off, but all this … Damn, I do not know how to explain it. I am not used to such _words _of degradation; I am not used to being ridiculed in such a way. And, least of all, I am not used to getting the itch to kick men in the balls, but _right now_, my right leg is _very_ ready for some action.

"See? Plain, I told you. Not bad on the eyes, but still," Skinny-as-Hell Number One shrilly stated, narrowing his eyes as he swept them over my form like I was cattle. "Bigger than what we normally go for."

_Again_ with me being _fat_?

"Nonsense, Santa; look at that bewildered face. She is one who plays coy."

This is so messed up. I am not saying anything right now because I most likely will commit murder several times tonight, but hell will reign before I will let myself be in this state forever. Snapping my wrist towards me, I regained my hand and glared wordlessly at the startled men, more irked than ever when the crowd closed around a small open space I saw to the left. So much for the corner tactic. Now, there are five swine who are throwing remarks like slop buckets.

"Huh, she is a feisty one."

Your mom, Baldy Face.

"I like feisty."

I think I am going to vomit.

Me vs. Baldy Face, Skinny-as-Hell Number One, Skinny-as-Hell Number Two, The Hefty, and Fish Eyes. Staring at me as if I am Jesus, or whatever. Wait, that's a bad example. How about a piece of meat? That, unfortunately, is much better.

"He is the one."

What? Signora Carlita? Behind me?

"Mario Celestino."

I froze. The name of my target.

"Look closely."

I did.

And nearly tore my eyes off.

The Hefty: He is my target; gold amongst black and red. Funny thing is, since he's so round, he looks like a golden apple. A very _big_ apple. I could not help but to release a chuckle.

"See? She is a sweet one; hear that little laugh."

"She will not necessarily be laughing later on, if you know what it is that I am referring to."

My face fell. Oh, wait, I nearly forgot that I am currently being verbally molested. How inattentive of me.

"I _must_ have her."

Yes, and I must have _you_.

_Dead_, that is, after I get what I must.

"She does not seem seductive, at all, Mario."

"Aye, one needs some honesty, sometimes, if one can afford it from a whore."

Laughter. More laughter. Ha, ha, ha. Very funny.

But now, it is my turn to laugh. My target must have a tiny smidgeon of intelligence, because soon, he dismissed his companions and gestured over for me with a pudgy finger. As much as I wanted to bite off that giant sausage and stick it up his hairy arse, I clamped down on my impulse and followed him past the hordes of debaucheries that stung my eyes.

Good. I have shamed myself enough. Time to get this over with.

"Oh, the music. The dance: My favorite." Oh, great, what was this idiot blabbering about_ now_? "The floor is clearing. My little kitten, you must go out there and give me a show."

_What _show? The seductive tones of Oriental tunes flittered past me as I chomped on my lip; the change in ambience was now one of the Serpent coiling around Eve.

And, _me_? _Dance_? In front of … _all this_?

"Come, now. You are even dressed for this," he insisted, raking his gaze over the attire I sincerely wished would stop being so damn scratchy. "Your figure is quite _full_, also. More for the eyes."

I glowered. Why could a girl _not_ be anything but skinny?

"Indulge him."

Signora Carlita!

Her whisper breezed past as she melted into the parting crowd once more. "We are nearly done."

_Nearly done_?

"My kitten?"

Nearly done.

"Dance."

Hell, _finally_. Almost there. I just have to secure him.

Even if it means that I must shame myself much more ridiculously.

I nodded grudgingly, taking deliberately slow steps into the center of the room that laid vacant for any "talented" seductresses to flaunt their "skills". I am going to fail miserably, for I am the least seductive creature on this Earth, and I have this awful case of short breath when I speak or do things in front of a large amount of people. I do not like being the center of attention, and I have always lived according to that principle. Celestino is going to be one disappointed—dead—man.

As soon as I turned, I saw Aurelia, and an inkling of relief soothed my troubled self. Once more, I can melt into the shadows and be unnoticed. Aurelia, one of the most famous courtesans with hair that shone like gold, with eyes bluer than the deepest of seas, with skin the color of fine cream, already captivated most of the room, even my now basically drooling target. Her hips rose and fell like a perfectly cresting wave, and the fashion in which she sauntered about the open expanse seemed godly. Everyone paled in comparison to her beauty and poise.

The plan might go differently, then, if my target was to incessantly go for Aurelia, but it would not fall short; I could simply trail them and come in through the ruins in the back into his quarters. Everything would work out in the end. The more I am overlooked, the better.

Yes, it was definitely better. The song was unfamiliar and much too slow for my tastes, and I probably looked dumber than a drunkard with two left feet; all I did was mimic the movements of the girls in front of me, as I stayed ever so observant in the back. I thought about slipping away, but much to my chagrin, I caught Celestino giving me an encouraging wink, and I was forced to go back into the uncomfortable routine.

Hellfire and damnation, this mission to dress up like a courtesan and go into an … an _orgy_. I _never_ should have accepted it—

_God. _

_Wait._

This … this next _song_, this _dance_.

I _know_ it.

I _know_ this by heart.

And, so, it began: one, two three, spin, step, arch the feet, clap, clap, end with a downwards fall to go into the next set. My mind worked furiously to click together the first few moves to the piece as I extended my limbs and moved. After the initial awkward startup, my body stirred of its own accord, and my mind coasted to a thoughtless haze that left the room a dull canvas of red and black undertones. The pipes, the tambourine, the spicy tenor of the Eastern World: They were all too captivating.

The familiar sound of enthusiastic cymbal clashes greeted my ears as I leapt and spun, shifting my hips upwards, snapping them downwards, while my hands lifted to the skies. I am not going to lie that I forgot about today being Monday; unfortunately, that thought still stuck with me, no matter how much I shook it off. I thought about the burnt bread I had for breakfast and the mice droppings on my favorite books; I thought about how I nearly cracked my head open after dumbly leaping into the open air from a haystack; I thought about how much the new recruits were being pompous bastards; I thought about the rain coming down like needles _right after_ I stepped out of the door. All these weights, I found, merely made my movements much more acute and prompt. The music was in synch with me, and I was in synch with the music.

It seemed strange, somehow, when the end presented itself with the last bit of the _tabla_ solo. My feet halted sharply before my conscious had caught up with the mystic conclusion, and breath rushed in and claimed the desperate reach in my lungs. It was done; it was over, I realized. The sound is stopped.

And I stood, mortification slapping me, out in the open, under the bright candelabra that seemed to make me burn and vivify the silver and green hues of my costume. I was exposed, no longer in the shadows, no longer hoping that my halfhearted mimics would shelter me. I was in the front, in front of the hordes of nameless faces that were motionless, under the scrutiny of the women behind me. I was speechless at my own reveries.

A noise. I heard a noise.

More and more.

And more.

And more like thunder.

And then, the sound of rain blasted through the room.

Overwhelming, completely overwhelming; like a ravenous tsunami, violent applauses and calls of approval ripped through my ears. Bags of florins, flowers, and other tokens were flung in my direction as I awkwardly stood in the middle the makeshift stage, dumbfounded and flustered. I caught Aurelia's face locked in shock, as well as the other courtesans and dancers, and I cringed before snapping back to attention. Everything darkened until I could only see the familiar red and bright white.

Until I saw the glimmer of gold.

Push, push, _push_: That is all I can do; I can only fight the greedy hands that latch onto me, the dirty promises, the crowd keeping me back, and rush through to my target. Everything was like a blur. It was all surreal.

"Kitten, you … that was … _magnifico_." What was really sad was that I was actually relieved to be next to this dire man than brave the crowd that previously gave me cover. "I _must_ have you."

I shuddered, but managed to give a faint nod.

Great. Here we go. I fingered the hidden blade mechanism as I stepped out of the grand hall after Mario Celestino, biting my inner cheek. I admit: I was lost in that time, but now, I will not make that same mistake again. I must pay _attentio_n. I _will_.

"Halt."

_What_?

My target seemed to be in a state of … _fea_r? He turned around in the most nervous of states, and bid me to do the same. I did, and I nearly thought that I was looking at the lower end of a tapestry; however, one snap of my eyes upwards, and I knew that I was mistaken.

"Ah, my l-l-l-lord," Celestino stammered, his fat face emitting beads of sweat. "It is g-good to see you."

Who was this _man_? His rank was higher than that of Celestino's? Strange; I was pretty sure my target had the highest stance in this mission. I looked at that sharp, shadowed face, and his massive frame towered over me. He spoke nothing for a few seconds, until:

"My lord wishes to see the woman."

I frowned; he was quite rude, too. Not that I really care for this austere giant—

_Whoa._

Hold on _one_ _damned second_.

"He wants her at once."

_Who_ wants to see me? I panicked, narrowing my eyes at my target. Whoever this lord was, he was thwarting my first _and_ second plans; I would not be able to trail, nor would I be near the vicinity of Celestino. This mission would be completely _ruined_.

I glared at the pudgy man, hoping he would utter a complaint. I danced out there for _nothing _if he was to relent like the fool he was; Monday just beat the shit out of me, and I was not even at the start of how my costume made me itch and look like a confused whore who was mute, at the beginning of all my problems. I was going to _finish_ this mission successfully, _damn it_, and _no one_ was going to stand in my way.

"O-Of course."

_What_?

"M-May the Master be satisfied."

Oh, for the love of a donkey's ass! I cannot _believe_ this turd!

"You are dismissed."

I almost screeched—well, as best as I could; having a deep voice is such a pain—and tore off my wig when I witnessed Celestino scurry away on his fat legs. My _mark_! _Gone_! Just like that! All the cursed work that I carried out!

"You," I heard the tall figure say, "come with me."

Oh, yea, Monday, just laugh. Laugh all you want, because soon, you are going to wish Friday and Saturday kicked your arse back to Hades.

Because if _they _will not,_ I_ will.


	2. Chapter 2

_Damn it_.

I worried my bottom lip as I paced the Spartan room that held only the necessities, growing more and more frustrated.

_Who _was that man? _Who_ was his lord? _Why_ was I in here, and _where_ was I? A myriad of questions dominated my head; a myriad of mental beatings was what I received from my conscience. After the last spectacle, I was "ushered" into this grandiose chamber and left alone not a second after. My target, unfortunately, got away; it would be up to Aurelia and the girls now to detain him until I can slip out.

Today, I sighed, stepping forward to sit on the large bed, was another shitty day. Not that that realization came as a surprise; almost every day had enough dung to fling around into the next, and Mondays were just the slop days.

Pretty soon, a strange sort of resignation washed over me, and I ended up flopping onto the bed that looked more like four beds combined in one—before I got up to explore, that is. There was not much to note in this room: It was not homely, nor was it sporting any sense of comfort; the room was all edges and immaculate structures. An armoire stood in the corner, boasting of sharp weapons that had the finest craftsmanship; the window was very large, and it overlooked the entire mountainous environment that did have me—grudgingly—impressed. To my left, a large, finely made wooden table held a compass, inkwell, quills, papers, and all sorts of documents that were not written in Italian—most likely, it was Spanish, but what did I know? English has always been my mother tongue, as if that was not surprising already, judging from my everyday observations.

_And_, I just took inventory of this place; hell, I am that _bored_, aside from still having the shit crept out of out of me. I would rather have a horde of angry sentries than to stay here a second longer. The calm before the storm, right now, is _killing_ me.

Damn, damn, _damn_!

"So, it seems as if you are already acquainted with this place."

What in the name of—

I suddenly whipped around, nearly hitting my cheek against the little deer I drew on the window with my breath and fingers. My foot, at that moment, decided to take a little vacation, and I ended up having my left eye twitch erratically as I endured a piercing leg and foot cramp. Both of my arms flew up in the air for support right after my other foot took a sudden step forward, and my face scrunched up in pain.

"Interesting," the person said in what seemed to be a tone of amusement; undoubtedly, the speaker was male, and he probably had enough chutzpah to make the current pope contract a heart attack. "The start of another dance of yours?"

Oh, wait.

_What_?

For a second, I thought the guy was an idiot, and I did not bother to look at him, still; he probably was some conceited nobleman with a fat, hairy arse who preyed on innocent women—and _men_, considering how this place makes _every_ sort of debauchery possible—and could not even tell that I was in _no mood_ to dance, judging from my weird state. However, after I realized my frozen position, I decided not to blame him as much, though my irritation still raged on; it _was_ a queer pose, after all, and if I shifted slightly to the right, and moved my arms wider apart from each other, it doubtlessly looked like the beginning of an Egyptian dance.

Not that I was an expert, of course. I only saw an Egyptian belly dancer once.

"Quite bold of you."

Oh, for crying out loud_, shut up_! I inwardly roared, promptly setting myself straight to the best of my abilities without further harming my foot and leg. Just from the voice itself, I came to several conclusions, including the one I just mentioned—you know, the fat, hairy, lascivious nobleman one: I recognized vanity, conceit, arrogance, lust, a temper …

The seven sins.

Definitely, the man was not a Christian zealot; I would not be surprised if he did not even _know_ the word _church_.

Or friendly. Or normal. Or, just being an overall, nice citizen. I know I cannot speak for myself, as I am not religious, but God seriously _should_ strike this guy down with a lightning bolt. A voice so laced with sin should not—

The sound of metal clinking and cloths shifting had me frowning as I braved a look upwards

I must have been staring straight into the eyes of the Devil.

And at the face of Him; surely, this must be an apparition of sorts, for my breath was—literally—robbed from me.

The eyes were black—I had not seen eyes that were as black as his; they were the most cynical pair of scrutinizing crows I had ever seen, darker than the purest of ebony. I could not tell what he was thinking at all from just looking at them: There was no apathy, no remorse, nor was there lust or anger: There was nothing. For once, I was confused in this way—me, the background girl who could read emotions more easily than her own, due to always observing, never asserting. I even _forgot_ about my foot and leg cramp because of this.

Ahem.

Moving on.

After I stared at his eyes like a creepy pedophile, I finally managed to take on the rest of his image, though the reflection of nothing haunted the recesses of my mind. He was definitely a tall man, with broad shoulders, and a build that was the opposite of fat, unfortunately—now, mind you, I still held on to the notion of him being insanely hairy, dumb, and lascivious, as first impressions are not always correct.

Additionally, just by looking at him, I could tell his status was not one of the common royalties, which was strange, since I had thought that my target—who had better _not _get away—had the highest rank in the party. His dress was mostly composed of well-made armor and expensive cloths: steel and linen, silk, bronze and gold ornamentals against cotton. And there was just that way he carried himself, the way he was standing; no doubt that he was a cocksure, pampered nobleman, no matter how much he and his skin had seen much sun and true battles, judging by his complexion and faded scars along his self.

Of course, there was the face; one could call it ridiculously handsome—

I mean _ordinary_. There was nothing remarkable about the face.

Nope, absolutely _nothing_.

_All right_, so he _did_ have a handsome face; so, what? It was not as if I did not know Gran Maestro _also_ had a very handsome—

I think I shall just shut up, now.

And, oh, my _god_, what was he _doing_?

I averted my eyes, frowning in bemusement as the mysterious man began to take off his armor. I honestly do not know _why_ I am feeling uneasy by him simply taking off his gear; it was not as if one would be entirely comfortable lugging around over one hundred pounds of metal all the time. But it was just disconcerting for some odd reason …

_Jesus Christ_, _why_ was he taking his shirt off?

_And_ his _breeches_?

_What is this_?

_I do not even_—

"What are you _doing_?" I finally yelled out, shielding my eyes as the impulse to run and bash his head in coursed through my veins. "What the _hell_ are you—Oh, my fucking _Mary_, _put your breeches back on_!"

He did not speak, but I just _knew_ he thought that I was a lunatic.

Huh, that _definitely_ was not something new. It surprises me sometimes when people cannot figure that out just by taking one look at me.

"You do not just … just fucking _show your nudist streak in front of other people_!"

_Seriously_!

I have only seen a naked man once, and that really scarred me for life—it was the old Russian butcher Ivan, and his flabby, curly-haired ass was basically nudged in my face when I had to go rescue him from his bedchamber because his wife told me that he had fainted in the bathtub. I do not _ever_—and I mean _ever_—want to see another one _again._

Ultimately, I do not know whether it was bravery or stupidity, but I dared to take a peek through the open space between my fingers, and was relieved to find the stranger still clothed from the waist down—oh, well, it was better than having a buck naked man prance about. I shook my head before I removed my hands from my face.

And promptly brought them back up when his hands neared his breeches.

Then, back down.

And back up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Up—

"For crying out loud, _stop it_!" My voice took over without the aid of my head. "This is _not_ very funny."

"Too bad," I heard, in a tone most insufferable and amused. "To me, _it is_."


	3. Chapter 3

"I beg your pardon?" I retorted, arching an eyebrow.

I watched him make his way languidly over to a large chair near the hearth and sit, leaning his head back with all the time in the world. The fashion in which he just moved, the casual air about him—everything about him was infuriating; even if he said not a word, hidden in a corner of a large, crowded room, extreme awareness of his presence would be the only thing that would dominate thoughts.

Something about him made me uneasy.

Something about him was dangerous.

And it made me realize what my stance was.

It is the moment that is more awkward than lifting your skirts too high and being caught by monks during mass, not that I can condone those filthy bastards looking at girls' legs. I had forgotten, had I not? That I was the pauper, and he was the prince; that, at this moment, I was the lowly whore only meant to cater to this foolish nobleman whose attendance was too overwhelming to suppress. That I had let my tongue slip from its tight reins; there would be repercussions for my indecent harangues. No man ever held his pride intact and actually brushed off addresses of the brash sort.

So, I stood there, expecting him to call guards to throw me into the dungeon and leave me starving until the end of my days. If he did, shit would go down, as I would not let any one of these dirty idiots seize me, but my move would inevitably alert the party below that a … _major problem_ was taking root. And my target would take off like the fat louse he was.

I sighed. Why could_ anything_ not go right for me? I had the worst luck in the universe.

"I would make you beg, but I sense that a game must be played before you would bend one knee."

Stiffening, I folded my arms across my chest, watching him swallow wine that somehow appeared before him. He did not break his eyes from mine, not even when the rim of the chalice partially moved over this tense connection, and I felt nothing but disconcerted. Raven's eyes, he had. I did not know if he was merely mocking me truly pulling forth that observation that was partially correct; there was no game at all: I would not sleep with this man, even if I was dressed as the whore who played a part in espionage. And there would be no dastardly game: I had_ no_ idea what he was talking about, in those regards.

I was not supposed to be here. I was supposed to already have completed the mission downstairs—scroll in my hands, information bled into my mind.

"Rather you brave a crown of thorns than submit?"

"I am going to be quite frank with you," I grit out, barely keeping my tone in check. I would not call him any sovereign title, nor would I partake in those stupid mind games of his. "What do you want? Where am I? Who are you?"

Nothing.

"Why did you bid me to come?"

Nothing.

Until he took another swallow.

"_Frank_? You may be frank with me all you want. Questions? Why not answer mine first?"

"Yes, because I would _most definitely know_ the right answer to that queer inquiry of yours."

"There is no right answer; there is not even a wrong answer," he replied, leaning further back in seat, as if the world cowered before his shoes. "You said that you would be frank. Then, be frank."

_Fine_, I inwardly ranted, clenching my fists. You want me to be frank? Then, I _will be_ frank, and I would not give a damn about propriety. Subterfuge was overrated at the moment, anyway.

"I do not want to be here in this room with you. But would anything I say matter? No, I think not."

"You would fight back."

"Yes, I would."

"You do not know who I am."

"No, I do not."

"Would it matter?"

"I think you know the answer already."

"Yet, you still came."

A pause before: "And how am I supposed to reply to that irony?"

"And you expected me to follow the same."

I scoffed, knitting my brow as I walked up to his bed and, locking eyes with his, plopped down unceremoniously onto it. Rather than making a scene, he nearly tipped his head and settled back to savoring his wine, his chin upon his knuckles. He was the strangest man I've ever met, and yet, however brief our encounter was, he confused me—I did not know whether to feel resigned or indignant of his nonchalance. He asked, yet he would not tell; he answered, yet he would be decisive. This was entirely out of my hands: I was recklessly pushing my boundaries, doing and saying things that I should not say, prodding instead of halting, and this noble simply …

Stretched the limits.

"Well?"

He arched a brow. "Well, what?"

"I was frank; now, you take on some honesty."

His laugh was subtle, heavy with a strange sort of richness that promised nothing but deviance. "Ah, that is one thing I do not have."

"Nonsense: Just say what you want, or I will walk out."

"Oh, brevity. I like that."

"Oh, stalling, I _love_ that."

Indeed, we were getting nowhere in this circular approach to things. It was back to him looking like a fat cat, my eye twitching unhappily, and both of us looking at each other in different ways—he probably viewed me through the lenses of a bored doctor's approach. Personally, I saw him through the mad fisherwoman's eyes. I swear, if this son of a bitch kept playing games with me, I was going to just take out my hidden blade and finish him off.

Okay, _figurative _hidden blade: As much as I wanted his guts on my fingers, he was probably some rich kid whose daddy was some army guy, or something, and making spaghetti out of his intestines would destroy the delicate reformation plans of Gran Maestro. Killing a high political figure without any notices would not only put my head in the noose, but also everyone else who worked hard to keep things sane: basically, almost everyone who made up my life. The only thing I could do right now is to slip out and get to my target without stabbing this fool.

I sighed. "_Look_, can you just tell me what the fuck it is that you want? I am getting really _annoyed_."

Who the hell _cared_ at this point that I was a chubby glutton in front of a daddy's boy? I sure as hell _did not_. I just needed _one_ reason to let my blades fly and at least maim his leg—if I was forced to let his lungs keep working. For a nobleman, he was the exact opposite of _noble_—yes, that is quite a bad pun, but—

"Why do you think I summoned you?"

Was he _serious_? For the love of God, I just wanted to _rip_ his damned eyebrows off!

"I do not know," I began sarcastically, snorting like a drunk innkeeper, "I guess I came in here to shine your shoes."

"No, my shoes are already clean. Do go on."

Irritation. Steaming ears. Blood rushing to the head. "You are an idiot."

"No, not really. Keep going."

"You have mommy issues."

"No, if I think about it. On and on."

I tried again, this time serious. "I offended you."

He quirked his lips. "At this point, you have flung around enough impudence to make my captains weep. However, before, you have not."

"I offended one of your men."

"No, I do not give a damn about those French forces."

"I offended someone you know."

"No, offense is not why."

Suddenly, I narrowed my eyes, subconsciously rubbing my chin as I recalled a grievous thing I did. "I think I finally know."

"Oh? Say it."

"It is about the red grapes, is it not?"

"What—"

"All right, it was I," I admitted, huffing as I rolled my eyes. "_I_ was the one who the all the red grapes out of the bowl."

I got up, striding back and forth as I frowned. "So, I was really hungry before my group formally entered, and I saw them placed next to the gizzards." A breath. "I cannot _stand_ gizzards, nor can I stand green grapes, so I picked the red ones all out."

" … _What_?"

"The grapes! I _know_ everyone was mad about that! They were all looking for the perpetrator! Which is … well, _me._"

"My lady, as much as I do enjoy grapes, that is not the reason why."

"It is not?" I asked, trying to fight down a funny feeling at the title, no matter how easily he tossed it out. "And do not call me 'my lady', my lord."

He arched a brow, shifting his mouth amusedly as he inclined his cup slightly, looking all the more regal and pompous by the second. "Why not, aside from you calling me 'my lord' as a retort? I do not see a man—I see a woman."

"You are a _real_ smart one, are you not?" Damn it, why was the room kind of _hot_ for some reason?

"People say many things, _my lady_."

"Yeah, hilarious. _Not_."

I do not know when it changed, to be honest. One second he was drinking, and the next, the ambience seemed to wrangle all the lax air out of its body, only to take on a cloak of uncomfortable intensity. He looked at me, but at the same time, he did not look at me—it is like being a giant hunk of pork under the butcher's gaze, or something like that. Except, instead of figuring out ways to possibly dish me up for some customer, he seemed as if he wanted to dissect me like a bad cold cut—one with the extra flab and skin that should not be there. I awkwardly scratched my chin as we said nothing; and when I mean awkward, I mean _awkward-awkward-awkward_.

It was_ that_ bad.

"_What_?" I snapped. "Do I have something on my face?"

Silence.

God damn it, how long was he going to_ stare_? I was not a bible or a codex that could solve all problems—but by the way he scrutinized me, he probably thought that I contained all of life's secrets. I might as well run and jump out the window. This guy was _crazy_, and me being a loon already would not help my sanity in any way; last time I checked, I did not have a giant pimple on my nose, nor was my wig was sliding off like it did three hours ago. Just looking at him made me want to vomit and curl up in a corner with my bear doll.

"What. The. _Hell_." _Seriously. _"Did your mother not teach you that staring is rude?"

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Until my back hit the bed.

And I stared into black.

He loomed over me, expression the same, his mouth the same, his eyes dark and seemingly unresponsive to anything that attempted to goad it for a reaction; his hand that had grabbed my wrist was unbearably hot, and I found myself wincing as another settled itself flat near my hair that was probably sticking up in odd angles. It was at that moment that I remembered my earlier thoughts, remembered that I was pushing too fast once again when it came to this enigma of a man: A flash of a warning would only be given before he would take an action that would leave no room for argument. In fact, there seemed to be no room in this diminutive world of his—the chamber we were in was like another universe away, and I felt a surge of panic stinging my fingertips, telling me to move and do_ something_.

"What … what are you _doing_?"

"My earlier question, _my lady_." Close. _Too_ close. "My earlier question."

—that I knew no answer to.

"You must answer before you ask."


	4. Chapter 4

I blinked. Hard.

"Um … _awkward_," I called out, confusedly darting my eyes to the door and back at the man above me. "Can a girl _please_ have some personal space? I cannot breathe."

"Oh, how interesting. You really do have black hair."

I sighed. I already had a feeling he was going to pull something that random out of his arse, and my suspicion—not that my conclusion was ever flawed—was proved correct as soon as I felt my head feel much lighter.

Right, I dryly noticed. The fool snatched off my wig.

My God, I simply cannot _believe_ what I am going through tonight.

"What, do you have a thing for blondes only?" My sarcasm felt a tad limp, but I threw it out there, anyway. I mean, aside from having this weird, scary-looking—yes, I will just admit it—man tower over me, I was already having a bad day. And it did not have anything to do with Vito thinking that it was all right to—

At that moment, I tensed. Shit, I did not mean to remind myself of that. I swore to myself that I would not let anything distract me from this mission; I did not need the harsh words stated this very morning to affect my performance. I did not need _any _of that.

I—

"I have never really considered a fetish for hair color. Perhaps, I am indifferent." He flapped my carefully coiffed wig in front of my face and amusedly scrutinized the mass of curls as if a pompous fool did not know his place. "There are other assets that are much more interesting in a woman."

_Right. _Like breasts and arses and …

And …

Well, certainly, a man like him wouldn't search for the next Machiavelli when he could be feeling up some mega-sized grapefruits on a skinny wretch. I could not really hate this man, however; he pretty much summed up the entire male population, and as an "uptight nun," as Aurelia calls me, I would take everything the wrong way.

And this time, I _did_ take it the wrong way, and my nostrils were probably the things that made him back up and look at me as if I told him I had syphilis. They flared like the way my horse does when some fat village kid keeps poking him with a stick because it seems awesome. They flared because my costume was making my armpits feel itchy. They flared because I was beyond frustrated, because a bad memory of—

_God._ Because of one man, I was ruined—

"What is wrong?"

"_Wrong_?" I blinked once more. "_Nothing_ is wrong … aside from this situation."

"… I see."

_Not_. He did not see, and he made that clear by leveling his gaze with at me while drinking his wine. I knew that I was never great at lying—even when I was a small child, I would never dare braving the theft of an apple, even if it was ritualistic by those around me, for the fear of cracking all too soon. I could barely save my own arse in headquarters, so it was not as if my "feminine" conventionalism could serve as a scapegoat.

Nevertheless, he did not press any further; I was strangely grateful for that, for my face must have taken on a sanguine hue. It invariably did that when I became agitated or at a wit's end, and I hated it. It made my own peers stare back in perplexity at the blotchiness that would be my face. I would look exactly like a burnt rodent.

I covered my face. It was so hot in this room. Breathing deeply, I sat up on the bed and rearranged my attire before pressing my hands against my cheeks, feeling the familiar wound that spanned from the middle of my right cheek to my clavicle. It still stung, especially with the stitches, but it was healing, and I was thankful just for that fact. I did not really care that it would scar.

What I was more concerned about was the queerness of this predicament. To put it bluntly, I was extremely surprised that I did not have to cut off any bullocks while fending off a filthy rapist. I was acknowledged as a high-class whore.

But he did not perceive me to be one, and I knew it. This man was dangerous. Something odd pulled at my stomach at the way he looked at everything and seemed to know every last detail about it. He seemed to even know me—he most likely knew that I was not the average heathen in this castle, and I cursed my luck.

_If only._ If only I was stuck with my target, I would not be so confused. I would not have to corner a predator that instinctively snagged a mite in disguise.

So, I did what cowards did.

"Referring back to your earlier question," I stated after a tense moment, picking at a scab on my finger, "am I still free to guess?"

"I never opposed." He played along—I was grateful for it once more, and it thoroughly confused me. "I myself have no definite answer."

"_Huh. _So, what? You just felt like calling up a random person?"

"Perhaps."

" … This does not really help. I asked why you called me, and you asked the same question in regards to your perspective." Huffing, I ripped off the jeweled headdress and began to comb my fingers through my hair, wincing at tugged knots and loose pieces of the wig I wore earlier. There really was no point in reaching over and rearranging my wig and ornament. The wig looked like a giant ball of cat fur on the carpet, and the decorative piece looked plain ridiculous by itself. "The fact that you look like a wronged poet, sitting over there in your chair next to the window, is not telling me anything."

Well, honestly, the sex party downstairs was not much better, anyway. And I had a feeling that Aurelia and the rest of the girls were already slitting throats and gathering information while I was being the awkward turtle that did not accomplish a single thing. Dear God, my target seriously must have gone home by now. Like, _now_. Like, _now_ as in _nownownow_.

_Damn_. This shit _always_ happened to me. How was a supposed to help the Cause if none of my missions went the right way? There would invariably be a flaw in all of the carefully devised plans, or some random thing would pop up and fuck the entire mission over. Like the time I was supposed to assassinate a courier: I could still remember the gleeful look on that fatarse's face when he saw me trip over a giant cart of horse manure. Thank God Giovanni was able to strike him down from the roof of a nearby bakery; else, scraping off the literal pile of shit from myself was simply impossible.

"Can I leave?" I complained, glaring at the stranger while scratching my stomach that obviously hated the itchy attire. The area under my breasts was also itchy, but it would be wrong on so many levels to start scratching away. "We are not even _doing_ anything, I am bored as hell, I need a bath, my leg hurts, and … did I mention that we are not _doing_ anything?"

To my surprise, he simply replied with: "I can draw up a bath in the next room if you would like. A masseur can also be called for shortly. As for doing nothing …"

Oh, _hell no_. Was this guy crazy? I backed up and gazed longingly at the door.

The inevitable came sooner than I expected.

"I—"

"Do not worry about the pricing. I will give you at least ten times the amount you charge."

_No. No. For the love of—_

I—"

He rose from his seat and strode over, clearly reassessing my body as if he was about to buy a new stallion. Up, down, around, over, left right, of all sides and boundaries. My skin, my hair, my teeth, my hands, my lips. The softness of my body. My _eagerness_.

He stopped there. "Am I rushing you?"

_Yes. Sweet Jesus, yes!_ "I … I do not really … um … Well …"

Holy shit, he wants sex. _Holy shit_, I guess he _does_ think I am a prostitute; either that or he is just taking advantage of my guise as a prostitute to get some. And the weird thing is that he is not being an arse about it.

Not that I would _want_ to have sex, of course. That is the _last_ thing on my mind.

But still, _what in the world? _"Sir, I think you misunderstand this entire situation."

"So, I was right. You are not a courtesan."

I winced. _Fuck_. Was my cover blown? "_No_, I _am_!" Dear Lord, how sad it was for me to want to be seen as a whore so badly. This was the opposite of what I preached: I really _am_ going to hell for hypocrisy. "I _really _am … I just … er …" _Think of something!_ "Um … I …"

"_Well_?"

_No, no, no, no, no, no! No! God!_

The clock ticked.

And ticked.

And _ticked._

Until: " … _Do not have my license_!" I replied, chomping on my cheek as soon as the dumb words spilled out. "And I usually do not … _conduct_ business without it."

Oh, right. He was _so_ going to believe this. I bet naïve monks could even tell that this was all a lie without consulting the Lord.

But then again, over half of them in Roma were perverse pedophiles who had greasy scalps from all that beeswax. I bet nothing genius came out of sheer cognition. Which sadly matched my predicament because the worst always did. _Always_.

Like the way he looked at me. Looked at me as if I was a faulty slab of steak that talked. And pulled some weird idea out of her arse that never even existed in the past. And I hated the way he towered over me without doing the chin-tilt thing men were so fond of—he merely _looked_. No glare, no eye tick, no semblance of disgust or satisfaction. Just …

_Looking._ And standing. And moving.

And, _oh, my God, was he going to take off his_—

"_What are you doing?_"_ What the hell? _I reared back as his fingers landed on the drawstring of his breeches once more, nearly losing my balance. "_WhatisthisIdonoteven_—"

I panicked and landed clumsily on the bed as the shuffle of clothing continued sound. Holy shit, I was _so_ not ready for this! _So not ready_! _I never even_—

"Why are you doing this?" I croaked, biting my fingernails as the bed dipped to accommodate what felt like a knee. "I just said that I did not have my—"

A hand thudded next to the curve of my hunched back.

_Oh, shit_.

"Your licensure is irrelevant to my interests."


	5. Chapter 5

Apparently, I fainted.

_Apparently._

_All right_, so I _did_ faint. As with all things, I do not remember what exactly happened.

_Except for seeing a testicle_.

I gagged, coughing up the chicken broth violently. I must have startled the poor maid who was feeding me because she looked as if her neck was to be wrung by a single drop spilt. However, it was not as if I could have done anything to comfort her, anyway. She was most likely going to be chastised for my chicken broth fountain by the head maid, even though I tried to awkwardly catch the hailstorm I created with my mouth.

Yes, it was disgusting. And, yes, I did see a testicle.

_A testicle_. Mother of God. _What the hell_. How does one logically respond to seeing a testicle? I mean, really, was I supposed to fulfill the mission set of my life by seeing a devious smirk and a testicle? Is it even _normal_ to see a testicle, faint, and eat some really delicious chicken soup afterwards?

"_S-S-S-Sig-Signora_? _Mi dispiace! Dio!_" the maid stuttered, her nervous eyes drawn tight as she looked at me in horror. "_Per favore_, I did not mean to—"

"It is fine. It is my fault, after all. I should be the one to apologize." This girl needed some time off; else, she was going to be the one fainting, not I. "I am sorry for dribbling. I was thinking too hard…Um…What is your name?"

I saw the girl frown, widen her eyes, look interestingly at the spoon, frown again, before she began to play with the corners of her starched apron. As a side note, I did notice that the three servants that I did see were pretty well dressed for servants; their aprons were not frayed, their hair was neatly done, and their clothes were well pressed. The only thing that I did see them lack is sarcasm and an attitude, or any type of personality for that matter. They were either meek or emotionless—at most, they were wary and cautious. I did not blame them. I must have been the odd lot.

But, anyway, back to the matter at hand. Her name. What was it?

"I…"

"_Yes_?" _Please tell me your name so that I do not have to awkwardly look and point like a caveman for more soup. _"What is it?"

"_Mi dispiace_, but I am not to tell you my name."

_What_? "Oh…Okay…_Well_, then. That is fi—"

_And_, she was gone.

Literally gone. I look to my right, and the only thing I saw was the final swish of her dress before the large wooden doors closed shut. That was incredibly rude, I sulked, moodily poking at my bandaged head. A particular jab made me wince. The only person who saw a mischievous tilt of the lips, a testicle, and suddenly hit their head on whatever had to be me.

I groggily flopped my body to the left side. My entire body was sore from lying down in the bed that had to be a mile long and a mile wide. And it was kind of weird how it was all shiny from gold and jewels. Who the hell makes a bed of gold with diamonds all over it? What a waste of resources! Do you know how many pies you can buy with a fraction of gold dust?! My entire lifetime's worth, that is what!

Not to mention, I was bored. _So. Bored_. I was told that I slept for two days straight. But instead, I feel as if I have not slept for two days straight. My body was sore, I wanted more food, my wounds hurt, and I was lost.

_Lost_. I did not know where I was. I was quite sure that I was in that damned aristocrat's abode, except I was bedridden not by choice. Every time I wanted to escape, somehow a servant would show up right on time to prevent me from jumping out of the window in just a cotton shift. It was as if they were spying on me for every second that passed. And even if I wanted to flee, from what I could see from my latest failed venture, this was a legitimately fortified castle that was several hundred feet high, with the tops just skimming the lowly clouds. If I did wish to attempt an escape, I needed proper equipment, especially clothing that would prevent the wind from making my ass get chapped. Therefore, for the time being, I had to lay low and wait.

So for the next twenty minutes, I burrowed myself in the silken sheets and pretended I was swimming in the ocean. Just how long was I supposed to stay here, I wondered, entangling myself in the blankets. I was fine now. I did not need to lay there like an invalid. I might have gotten a head injury, and mental trauma to last for a lifetime, but I was more uncomfortable getting bed sores than moving about.

And I really needed to get back to headquarters. But while I did need to get back, I was angry. Two whole days passed and not a single word? Yes, I know that I flawed in my mission, but was not one of our main beliefs leaving no comrade behind? Wishful thoughts of my companions taking their time in order to secure a successful rescue amassed my head, but I knew that I was just kidding myself. Really, they would have had an easy chance to rescue me that very night. Or even the day after, since the day after meant that everyone was partying again for some other Borgia festivity. Two whole days, and leading into a third day, was just ridiculous.

_What exactly was going on_?

Those were the thoughts I hated to think of as I drifted back to sleep.

O~O~O~O

Finally, I was allowed to get out of bed. Several maids had come in and began to undress me, which was probably one of the most uncomfortable feelings of my life, and then began to bathe me. My hair was washed, and my body was, too, and I was dismayed to find that the water was murky. I did not think that I was _that_ dirty, but I was wrong. I was filthy.

That god-awful man must have had fun picking at a disheveled crow.

After that, I was wrestled into a clean shift, but then the real struggle began when the evil contraption known as a corset was put into view. There was _no way_ I was going to wear that thing. I never did, and I never will. While I did flap around like a chicken without its head, I was literally forced into submission when a maid with arms the size of a titan squeezed me into the corset and tightened it to the point where I began to see spots in my vision. Another servant seemed to take pity on me, fortunately, and loosened the ties so that I could actually breathe. At that point, I was nowhere near energetic to protest having a dress put on me.

With my hair brushed and my dress fitted, I was led down an insanely large amount of stairs. I was sweating by the time a double-set oak door was pushed open by the head maid. Who knew silk was so hot—but then again, I had never worn a silk gown in my life, so it was not as if I knew how it would feel until I felt my nonexistent chest begin to scream for ice. I shuffled uncomfortably forwards until the loud doors slammed closed behind me. From my lowered vision, I made out what had to be fine leather boots.

"So you are here."

I looked up. My eyes widened as I realized that it was the man from the previous time who had saved me from that lascivious group of men. But it was also the man who led me to that cursed noble. I shifted left to right as I observed this man: He was tall, extremely so. He was similar in appearance to the noble, wearing fine leather boots and an embroidered tunic, but his countenance was quite austere. He loomed over me and seemed to know every single detail about me.

"So…uh…" I awkwardly cleared my throat. "What am I here for?"

The man nodded. "Mi señor wishes to give you your compensation."

Compensation? I balked as he said so. Then, anger rose to fester at my throat. So, I was to be given supposed payment in this way? Yes, I was putting on a façade of being a courtesan, but there was no refinement in the way I was addressed.

However, before I could give the man a very personal scolding, a large set of doors that could easily swallow half the world opened several meters away by a behemoth of a fireplace, and out came a long train of servants. I confusedly stared at the twenty or so male servants who all held some sort of heavy chests, growing even more perplexed when they all filed around to form columns on either side of the tall man.

"See if it is to your liking. If you wish, Mi señor can arrange things."

I do not think I would have thought that in any way.

The chests were all opened. And in those chests—my good _God_, I could not breathe.

Gold. Sapphires. Rubies. Silk. Spices. Dresses made in all sorts of luxurious material. Goblets. Jewelry. I gaped as I took in the bright scene before me. What exactly was the meaning of this?

"I…What?" My eyes shifted left and right as the tall man before me surveyed my tense posture. "So…Is this…All mine?"

"Whose else would it be?"

_All right_. Well, then. _Well, then_. Things had gotten awkward. Was a courtesan really this expensive? I do not recall them being this demanding, as much as I hated putting prices on human lives. It is just that I usually was stationed at the courtesan houses, and I had seen the usual gifts. Trinkets, dresses, some more luxurious items by the regular customers. Even the highest courtesans who were dare taken to social meetings as partners were not given such an extreme fare.

And then the part I dreaded dawned upon me. They all thought that I was a real courtesan! And they would look for an address to take all these gifts! The problem is, I was not a real courtesan, so I did not have an official house, not even an official address, unless I wanted to give the Tiber hideout away. Damned, was I truly this stupid?!

"Simply give us the address to send these items to," the austere noble said, echoing the words I dreaded. "Mi señor will be sure to call on you later on during the day after his businesses are taken care of."

_Damned_. "Right. An address. Well, actually.."

Just as I suspected, the man narrowed his eyes and looked at me in suspicion. I cringed. At that moment, I wanted to bust into cinders. This was _not_ my day, as usual.

_Quick_, _think of something!_ _Anything!_ I could literally feel the sweat drip down my back, blending grossly with my corset as I burned under his gaze. I fidgeted. I opened my mouth. Closed it. I thought.

And thought.

Until I said something that damned me even more so.

"I would like to wait here until your master arrives," I proposed, trying to seem nonchalant, but probably failing to do so. I pushed forwards, anyway. "It would not be polite if I simply left."

He raised a brow. "There is no need to do so. He will come much later."

For the love of _Christ_! "No, I insist." Just let me stay for a little while until I find another escape plan!

We stared at each other for a good while. I refused to back down, and he refused to waver. He assessed me. I assessed him. I began to feel sorry for the poor servants who had to watch our spectacle. I swear I caught one rolling his eyes.

"Please. It is not within my…_policy_ to leave without a farewell."

That must have been persuasive enough. He relented, albeit grudgingly. "_Bien_. But I can still send these gifts to—"

"_It is fine_," I cut in, my voice taking on a higher pitch than I would have liked. Oh, well. "I will…take them when I leave."

He stared me down. "If that is what you wish."

The man turned, and I watched as his boots struck the marbled floors with a natural gusto. I breathed a sigh of relief, only to straighten up once more when he turned around before the large doors.

"The servants will tend to you." I nodded. "Until then."

"Until then. _Grazie_."

He left. I sagged.

Just how much of this ordeal did I have to endure?


End file.
